fS3 
C383 


UNDERTONES 

By 

Madison  Cavvein 


IC-NRLF 


fc 
o 

t— I 

K      O 


ft 

2 


O 

E- 

I I 

CO 

W 


* 


6 


D 


INSCRIBED    TO    THE   PATHETIC 

MEMORY    OF   THE    POET 

HENRY   TIMROD 


Long  are  the  days,  and  three  times  long  the  nights. 

The  Aweary  hours  are  a  heavy  chain 

Upon  the  feet  of  all  Earths  dear  delights, 

Holding  them  ever  prisoners  to  pain. 

What  shall  beguile  me  to  believe  again 

In  hope,  that  faith  within  her  parable  writes 

Of  life,  care  reads  with  eyes  whose  tear-drops 

stain  ? 

Shall  such  assist  me  to  subdue  the  heights  ? 
Long  is  the  night,  and  over  long  the  day. — 
The  burden  of  all  being  !  —  is  it  worse 
Or  better,  lo !  that  they  who  toil  and  pray 
May  win  not  more  than  they  who  toil  and  curse  ? 
A  little  sleep,  a  little  love,  ah  me ! 
And  the  slow  weight  up  the  soul's  Calvary ! 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE    DREAMER I 

QUIET 2 

UNQUALIFIED 3 

UNENCOURAGED    ASPIRATION      ...  3 

THE    WOOD 4 

WOOD    NOTES 5 

SUCCESS 7 

SONG 7 

THE    OLD    SPRING 8 

HILLS    OF    THE    WEST 1O 

FLOWERS .  II 

SECOND    SIGHT 12 

DEAD    SEA    FRUIT 13 

THE    WOOD    WITCH 14 

AT    SUNSET 1 6 

MAY 17 

THE    WIND    OF    SPRING 1 8 

INTERPRETED 19 

THE    WILLOW    BOTTOM 2O 

THE    OLD    BARN 22 

CLEARING 23 

REQUIEM 25 

AT    LAST 26 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A    DARK    DAY 27 

FALL 28 

UNDERTONE 29 

CONCLUSION 30 

MONOCHROMES 32 

DAYS    AND    DAYS 34 

DROUTH    IN    AUTUMN 35 

MID-WINTER 36 

COLD 37 

IN    WINTER 38 

ON    THE    FARM 39 

PATHS 41 

A    SONG    IN    SEASON 43 

APART 44 

FAERY  MORRIS 45 

THE  WORLD'S  DESIRE 46 

THE  UNATTAINABLE 47 

REMEMBERED 51 

THE  SEA  SPIRIT 52 

A  DREAM  SHAPE 53 

THE  VAMPIRE 54 

WILL-O'-THE-WISP 56 

THE  HEADLESS  HORSEMAN  ....  57 

THE  WERE-WOLF 59 

THE  TROGLODYTE 62 

THE  CITY  OF  DARKNESS     ....  63 

TRANSMUTATION 65 

viii 


xss* 

f    V     0^ 


0^  THE 

I    UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE   DREAMER 

EVEN  as  a  child  he  loved  to  thrid  the 
bowers, 

And  mark  the  loafing  sunlight's  lazy  laugh; 
Or,  on  each  season,  spell  the  epitaph 
Of  its  dead  months  repeated  in  their  flowers; 
Or  list  the  music  of  the  strolling  showers, 
Whose  vagabond  notes  strummed  through 

a  twinkling  staff; 

Or  read  the  day's  delivered  monograph 
Through    all    the    chapters    of    its    dsedal 

hours. 

Still  with  the  same  child-faith    and  child- 
regard 

He  looks  on  Nature,  hearing,  at  her  heart, 
The  beautiful  beat  out  the  time  and  place, 
Whereby  no  lesson  of  this  life  is  hard, 
No  struggle  vain  of  science  or  of  art, 
That  dies  with  failure  written  on  its  face. 


UNDERTONES 


QUIET 

A  LOG-HUT  in  the  solitude, 
A  clapboard  roof  to  rest  beneath ! 
This  side,  the  shadow-haunted  wood  $ 
That  side,  the  sunlight-haunted  heath. 

At  daybreak  Morn  shall  come  to  me 
In  raiment  of  the  white  winds  spun; 

Slim  in  her  rosy  hand  the  key 

That  opes  the  gateway  of  the  sun. 

Her  smile  shall  help  my  heart  enough 
With  love  to  labor  all  the  day, 

And  cheer  the  road,  whose  rocks  are  rough, 
With  her  smooth  footprints,  each  a  ray. 

At  dusk  a  voice  shall  call  afar, 

A  lone  voice  like  the  whippoorwill's; 

And,  on  her  shimmering  brow  one  star, 
Night  shall  descend  the  western  hills. 

She  at  my  door  till  dawn  shall  stand, 
With  Gothic  eyes,  that,  dark  and  deep, 

Are  mirrors  of  a  mystic  land, 

Fantastic  with  the  towns  of  sleep. 


UNENCOURAGED    ASPIRATION 


UNQUALIFIED 

NOT  his  the  part  to  win  the  goal, 
The  flaming  goal  that  flies  before, 
Into  whose  course  the  apples  roll 
Of  self  that  stay  his  feet  the  more. 

Beyond  himself  he  shall  not  win 
Whose  flesh  is  as  a  driven  dust, 

That  his  own  soul  must  wander  in, 
Seeing  no  farther  than  his  lust. 

UNENCOURAGED    ASPIRATION 

IS  mine  the  part  of  no  companion  hand 
Of  help,  except  my  shadow's  silent  self? 
A  moonlight  traveller  in  Fancy's  land 
Of  leering  gnome  and  hollow-laughing  elf; 

Whose   forests    deepen   and    whose    moon 

goes  down, 
When    Night's    blind   shadow  shall   usurp 

my  own; 
And,    mid  the    dust  and  wreck    of  some 

old  town, 

The  City  of  Dreams,  I  grope  and  fall  alone. 

3 


UNDERTONES 


THE   WOOD 

WITCH-HAZEL,   dogwood,  and  the 
maple  here; 

And  there  the  oak  and  hickory; 
Linn,  poplar,  and  the   beech-tree,  far  and 

near 
As  the  eased  eye  can  see. 

Wild-ginger;  wahoo,  with  its  wan  balloons; 

And  brakes  of  briers  of  a  twilight  green; 

And  fox-grapes  plumed  with  summer;  and 

strung  moons 
Of  mandrake  flowers  between. 

Deep  gold-green  ferns,  and  mosses  red  and 

gray,  — 

Mats  for  what  naked  myth's  white  feet  ? — 
And,  cool  and  calm,  a  cascade  far  away 
With  even-falling  beat. 

Old  logs,   made  sweet  with  death;    rough 

bits  of  bark; 

And  tangled  twig  and  knotted  root; 
And  sunshine  splashes  and  great  pools  of 

dark; 

And  many  a  wild-bird's  flute. 
4 


WOOD    NOTES 

Here  let  me  sit  until  the  Indian,  Dusk, 

With  copper-colored  feet,  comes  down; 
Sowing   the    wildwood    with    star-fire    and 

musk, 
And  shadows  blue  and  brown. 

Then    side    by  side  with    some    magician 

dream, 

To  take  the  owlet-haunted  lane, 
Half-roofed    with    vines;    led   by    a    firefly 

gleam, 
That  brings  me  home  again. 


WOOD    NOTES 


HPHERE  is  a  flute  that  follows  me 
J.  From  tree  to  tree: 
A  water  flute  a  spirit  sets 
To  silver  lips  in  waterfalls, 
And  through  the  breath  of  violets 
A  sparkling  music  calls  : 

"Hither!  halloo!  Oh,  follow! 
Down  leafy  hill  and  hollow, 
Where,  through  clear  swirls, 
5 


UNDERTONES 

With  feet  like  pearls, 
Wade  up  the  blue-eyed  country  girls. 
Hither!  halloo!     Oh,  follow!" 


n. 

There  is  a  pipe  that  plays  to  me 

From  tree  to  tree  : 
A  bramble  pipe  an  elfin  holds 
To  golden  lips  in  berry  brakes, 
And,  swinging  o'  er  the  elder  wolds, 
A  flickering  music  makes  : 
"  Come  over!     Come  over 
The  new-mown' clover! 
Come  over  the  new-mown  hay! 
Where,  there  by  the  berries, 
W^ith  cheeks  like  cherries, 
And  locks  with  which  the  warm  wind 

merries, 
Brown  girls  are  hilling  the  hay, 

All  day! 

Come  over  the  fields  and  away! 
Come  over!     Come  over!" 


SONG 

SUCCESS 

HOW  some  succeed  who  have  least  need, 
In  that  they  make  no  effort  for! 
And  pluck,  where  others  pluck  a  weed, 
The  burning  blossom  of  a  star, 
Grown  from  no  earthly  seed. 

For  some  shall  reap  that  never  sow; 
And  some  shall  toil  and  not  attain,  — 
What  boots  it  in  ourselves  to  know 
Such  labor  here  is  not  in  vain, 
When  we  still  see  it  so! 


SONG 

UNTO  the  portal  of  the  House  of  Song, 
Symbols     of  wrong    and  emblems    of 

unrest, 

And  mottoes  of  despair  and  envious  jest, 
And  stony  masks  of  scorn  and  hate  belong. 

Who  enters  here  shall  feel  his  soul  denied 
All  welcome:  lo!  the  chiselled  form  of  Love, 
That  stares  in  marble  on  the  shrine  above 
The  tomb  of  Beauty,  where  he  dreamed  and 
died! 

7 


UNDERTONES 

Who  enters  here  shall  know  no  poppy-flowers 
Of  Rest,  or  harp-tones  of  serene  Content; 
Only  sad  ghosts  of  music  and  of  scent 
Shall  mock  the  mind  with  their  remembered 
powers. 

Here  must  he  wait  till  striving  patience  carves 
His  name  upon  the  century-storied  floor; 
His  heart's  blood  staining  one  dim  pane  the 

more 
In  Fame's  high  casement  while  he  sings  and 

starves. 


THE    OLD    SPRING 


UNDER  rocks  whereon  the  rose, 
Like  a  strip  of  morning,  glows; 
Where  the  azure-throated  newt 
Drowses  on  the  twisted  root; 
And  the  brown  bees,  humming  homeward, 
Stop  to  suck  the  honey-dew; 
Fern  and  leaf-hid,  gleaming  gloamward, 
Drips  the  wildwood  spring  I  knew, 
Drips  the  spring  my  boyhood  knew. 
8 


THE   OLD   SPRING 


n. 


Myrrh  and  music  everywhere 
Haunt  its  cascades}  —  like  the  hair 
That  a  naiad  tosses  cool, 
Swimming  strangely  beautiful, 
With  white  fragrance  for  her  bosom, 
For  her  mouth  a  breath  of  song;  — 
Under  leaf  and  branch  and  blossom 
Flows  the  woodland  spring  along, 
Sparkling,  singing,  flows  along. 


in. 

Still  the  wet  wan  morns  may  touch 
Its  gray  rocks,  perhaps;  and  such 
Slender  stars  as  dusk  may  have 
Pierce  the  rose  that  roofs  its  wave; 
Still  the  thrush  may  call  at  noontide, 
And  the  whippoorwill  at  night; 
Nevermore,  by  sun  or  moontide, 
Shall  I  see  it  gliding  white, 
Falling,  flowing,  wild  and  white. 


UNDERTONES 


HILLS    OF   THE   WEST 


HILLS  of  the  west,  that  gird 
Forest  and  farm, 
Home  of  the  nestling  bird, 

Housing  from  harm, 
When  on  your  tops  is  heard 
Storm : 

Hills  of  the  west,  that  bar 

Belts  of  the  gloam, 
Under  the  twilight  star, 

Where  the  mists  roam, 
Take  ye  the  wanderer 
Home. 


Hills  of  the  west,  that  dream 

Under  the  moon, 
Making  of  wind  and  stream, 

Late-heard  and  soon, 
Parts  of  your  lives  that  seem 
Tune. 

10 


FLOWERS 

Hills  of  the  west,  that  take 

Slumber  to  ye, 
Be  it  for  sorrow's  sake 

Or  memory, 

Part  of  such  slumber  make 
Me. 

FLOWERS 

OH,  why  for  us  the  blighted  bloom ! 
The  blossom  that  lies  withering! 
The  Master  of  Life's  changeless  loom 
Hath  wrought  for  us  no  changeless  thing. 

Where  grows  the  rose  of  fadeless  Grace  ? 
Wherethrough  the  Spirit  manifests 
The  fact  of  an  immortal  race, 
The  dream  on  which  religion  rests. 

Where  buds  the  lily  of  our  Faith  ? 
That  grows  for  us  in  unknown  wise, 
Out  of  the  barren  dust  of  death, 
The  pregnant  bloom  of  Paradise. 

In  Heaven!  so  near  that  flowers  know! 
That  flowers  see  how  near !  —  and  thus 
Reflect  the  knowledge  here  below 
Of  love  and  life  unknown  to  us. 


UNDERTONES 


SECOND    SIGHT 

lean  their  faces  to  me  through 
Green  windows  of  the  woods; 
Their  white  throats  sweet  with  honey-dew 

Beneath  low  leafy  hoods  — 
No  dream  they  dream  but  hath  been  true 
Here  in  the  solitudes. 


Star  trillium,  in  the  underbrush, 
In  whom  Spring  bares  her  face; 

Sun  eglantine,  that  breathes  the  blush 
Of  Summer's  quiet  grace; 

Moon  mallow,  in  whom  lives  the  hush 
Of  Autumn's  tragic  pace. 

For  one  hath  heard  the  dryad's  sighs 

Behind  the  covering  bark; 
And  one  hath  felt  the  satyr's  eyes 

Gleam  in  the  bosky  dark; 
And  one  hath  seen  the  naiad  rise 

In  waters  all  a-spark. 

12 


DEAD    SEA   FRUIT 

I  bend  my  soul  unto  them,  stilled 

In  worship  man  hath  lost; 
The  old-world  myths  that  science  killed 

Are  living  things  almost 
To  me  through  these  whose  forms  are  filled 

With  Beauty's  pagan  ghost. 

And  through  new  eyes  I  seem  to  see 
The  world  these  live  within,  — 

A  shuttered  world  of  mystery, 
Where  unreal  forms  begin 

The  real  of  ideality 

That  has  no  unreal  kin. 


DEAD    SEA   FRUIT 

ALL  things  have  power  to  hold  us  back. 
Our  very  hopes  build  up  a  wall 
Of  doubt,  whose  shadow  stretches  black 
O'er  all. 

The  dreams,  that  helped  us  once,  become 
Dread  disappointments,  that  oppose 
Dead  eyes  to  ours,  and  lips  made  dumb 
With  woes. 

13 


UNDERTONES 

The  thoughts  that  opened  doors  before 
Within  the  mind's  house,  hide  away; 
Discouragement  hath  locked  each  door 
For  aye. 

Come,  loss,  more  frequently  than  gain! 
And  failure  than  success!  until 
The  spirit's  struggle  to  attain 
Is  still! 


THE    WOOD    WITCH 

rPHERE  is  a  woodland  witch  who  lies 
JL  With    bloom-bright   limbs    and   beam- 
bright  eyes, 

Among  the  water-flags,  that  rank 
The  slow  brook's  heron-haunted  bank: 
The  dragon-flies,  in  brass  and  blue, 
Are  signs  she  works  her  sorcery  through; 
Weird,  wizard  characters  she  weaves 
Her  spells  by  under  forest  leaves,  — 
These  wait  her  word,  like  imps,  upon 
The  gray  flag-pods;  their  wings,  of  lawn 
And  gauze;  their  bodies  gleamy  green. 
While  o'  er  the  wet  sand,  —  left  between 
14 


THE   WOOD   WITCH 

The  running  water  and  the  still,  — 

In  pansy  hues  and  daffodil, 

The  fancies  that  she  meditates 

Take  on  most  sumptuous  shapes,  with  traits 

Like  butterflies.      '  T  is  she  you  hear, 

Whose  sleepy  rune,  hummed  in  the  ear 

Of  silence,  bees  and  beetles  purr, 

And  the  dry-droning  locusts  whirrj 

Till,  where  the  wood  is  very  lone, 

Vague  monotone  meets  monotone, 

And  slumber  is  begot  and  born, 

A  faery  child,  beneath  the  thorn. 

There  is  no  mortal  who  may  scorn 

The  witchery  she  spreads  around 

Her  dim  demesne,  wherein  is  bound 

The  beauty  of  abandoned  time, 

As  some  sweet  thought  'twixt  rhyme  and 

rhyme. 

And  by  her  spell  you  shall  behold 
The  blue  turn  gray,  the  gray  turn  gold 
Of  hollow  heaven;  and  the  brown 
Of  twilight  vistas  twinkled  down 
With  fire-flies;  and,  in  the  gloom, 
Feel  the  cool  vowels  of  perfume 
Slow-syllabled  of  weed  and  bloom. 
But,  in  the  night,  at  languid  rest,  — 
When  like  a  spirit's  naked  breast 


UNDERTONES 

The  moon  slips  from  a  silver  mist,  — 
With  star-bound  brow,  and   star-wreathed 

wrist, 

If  you  should  see  her  rise  and  wave 
You  welcome,  —  ah !  what  thing  shall  save 
You  then  ?  forevermore  her  slave ! 


AT   SUNSET 

INTO  the  sunset's  turquoise  marge 
The  moon  dips,  like  a  pearly  barge 
Enchantment  sails  through  magic  seas, 
To  fairyland  Hesperides, 

Over  the  hills  and  away. 

Into  the  fields,  in  ghost-gray  gown, 
The  young-eyed  Dusk  comes  slowly  down; 
Her  apron  filled  with  stars  she  stands, 
And  one  or  two  slip  from  her  hands 
Over  the  hills  and  away. 

Above  the  wood's  black  caldron  bends 
The  witch-faced  Night  and,  muttering,blends 
The  dew  and  heat,  whose  bubbles  make 
The  mist  and  musk  that  haunt  the  brake 
Over  the  hills  and  away. 
16 


MAY 

Oh,  come  with  me,  and  let  us  go 
Beyond  the  sunset  lying  low, 
Beyond  the  twilight  and  the  night, 
Into  Love's  kingdom  of  long  light, 
Over  the  hills  and  away. 


MAY 

nPHE  golden  disks  of  the  rattlesnake-weed, 
JL  That  spangle  the  woods  and  dance  — 
No  gleam  of  gold  that  the  twilights  hold 

Is  strong  as  their  necromance  : 
For,  under  the  oaks  where  the  wood-paths 

lead, 

The  golden  disks  of  the  rattlesnake-weed 
Are  the  May's  own  utterance. 

The  azure  stars  of  the  bluet  bloom 

That  sprinkle  the  woodland's  trance  — 

No  blink  of  blue  that  a  cloud  lets  through 
Is  sweet  as  their  countenance: 

For,  over  the  knolls  that  the  woods  perfume, 

The  azure  stars  of  the  bluet  bloom 

Are  the  light  of  the  May's  own  glance. 


UNDERTONES 

With  her  wondering  words  and  her  looks 

she  comes, 

In  a  sunbeam  of  a  gown; 
She  needs  but  think  and  the  blossoms  wink, 

But  look,  and  they  shower  down. 
By  orchard  ways,  where  the  wild-bee  hums, 
With  her  wondering  words  and  her  looks 

she  comes, 
Like  a  little  maid  to  town. 


THE   WIND    OF   SPRING 

THE  wind  that  breathes  of  columbines 
And    bleeding-hearts    that    crowd    the 

rocks  $ 

That  shakes  the  balsam  of  the  pines 
With  music  from  his  flashing  locks, 
Stops  at  my  city  door  and  knocks. 

He  calls  me  far  a-forest;  where 
The  twin-leaf  and  the  blood-root  bloom  j 
And,  circled  by  the  amber  air, 
Life  sits  with  beauty  and  perfume 
Weaving  the  new  web  of  her  loom. 
18 


INTERPRETED 

He  calls  me  where  the  waters  run 
Through  fronding  ferns  where  haunts  the 

hern; 

And,  sparkling  in  the  equal  sun, 
Song  leans  beside  her  brimming  urn, 
And  dreams  the  dreams  that  love  shall  learn. 

The  wind  has  summoned,  and  I  go,  — 
To  con  God's  meaning  in  each  line 
The  flowers  write,   and,  walking  slow, 
God's  purpose,  of  which  song  is  sign,  — 
The  wind's  great,  gusty  hand  in  mine. 


INTERPRETED 

WHAT  magic  shall  solve  us  the  secret 
Of  beauty  that '  s  born  for  an  hour  ? 
That  gleams  like  the  flight  of  an  egret, 
Or  burns  like  the  scent  of  a  flower, 
With  death  for  a  dower  ? 

What  leaps  in  the  bosk  but  a  satyr  ? 

What  pipes  on  the  wind  but  a  faun  ? 
Or  laughs  in  the  waters  that  scatter, 

But  limbs  of  a  nymph  who  is  gone, 
When  we  walk  in  the  dawn  ? 


UNDERTONES 

What  sings  on  the  hills  but  a  fairy  ? 

Or  sighs  in  the  fields  but  a  sprite  ? 
What  breathes  through  the  leaves  but  the  airy 

Soft  spirits  of  shadow  and  light, 
When  we  walk  in  the  night  ? 

Behold  how  the  world-heart  is  eager 
To  draw  us  and  hold  us  and  claim! 

Through  truths  of  the  dreams  that  beleaguer 
Her  soul  she  makes  ours  the  same, 
And  death  but  a  name. 


THE   WILLOW    BOTTOM 

LUSH  green  the  grass  that  grows  between 
The  willows  of  the  bottom -land  j 
Verged  by  the  careless  water,  tall  and  green, 
The  brown-topped  cat-tails  stand. 

The  cows  come  gently  here  to  browse, 
Slow  through  the  great-leafed  sycamores  j 
You  hear  a  dog  bark  from  a  low-roofed  house 
With  cedars  round  its  doors. 


THE    WILLOW   BOTTOM 

Then  all  is  quiet  as  the  wings 

Of  the  high  buzzard  floating  there  ; 

Anon    a  woman's  high-pitched  voice  that 

sings 
An  old  camp-meeting  air. 

A  flapping  cock  that  crows  ;  and  then  — 
Heard  drowsy  through  the  rustling  corn  — 
A  flutter,  and  the  cackling  of  a  hen 
Within  a  hay-sweet  barn. 

How  still  again!  no  water  stirs  j 
No  wind  is  heard  ;  although  the  weeds 
Are  waved  a  little  ;  and  from  silk-filled  burrs 
Drift  by  a  few  soft  seeds. 

So  drugged  with  sleep  and  dreams,  that  you 

Expect  to  see  her  gliding  by,  — 

Hummed  round  of  bees,  through  blossoms 

spilling  dew,  — 
The  Spirit  of  July. 


UNDERTONES 


THE   OLD    BARN 

LOW,  swallow-swept  and  gray, 
Between  the  orchard  and  the  spring, 
All  its  wide  windows  overflowing  hay, 
And  crannied  doors  a-swing, 
The  old  barn  stands  to-day. 

Deep  in  its  hay  the  Leghorn  hides 

A  round  white  nest ;  and,  humming  soft 

On  roof  and  rafter,  or  its  log-rude  sides, 

Black  in  the  sun-shot  loft, 

The  building  hornet  glides. 

Along  its  corn-crib,  cautiously 
As  thieving  ringers,  skulks  the  rat  5 
Or,  in  warped  stalls  of  fragrant  timothy, 
Gnaws  at  some  loosened  slat, 
Or  passes  shadowy. 

A  dream  of  drouth  made  audible 
Before  its  door,  hot,  smooth,  and  shrill 
All  day  the  locust  sings.   .    .    .   What  other 

spell 

Shall  hold  it,  lazier  still 
Than  the  long  day' s,  now  tell  ?  — 


CLEARING 

Dusk  and  the  cricket  and  the  strain 

Of  tree-toad  and  of  frog  ;  and  stars 

That  burn  above  the  rich  west's  ribbdd  stain; 

And  dropping  pasture  bars, 

And  cow-bells  up  the  lane. 

Night  and  the  moon  and  katydid, 

And  leaf-lisp  of  the  wind-touched  boughs; 

And  mazy  shadows  that  the  fire-flies  thrid  ; 

And  sweet  breath  of  the  cows  j 

And  the  lone  owl  here  hid. 


CLEARING 

BEFORE  the  wind,   with  rain-drowned 
stocks, 
The  pleated  crimson  hollyhocks 

Are  bending  ; 

And,  smouldering  in  the  breaking  brown, 
Above  the  hills  that  edge  the  town, 
The  day  is  ending. 

The  air  is  heavy  with  the  damp  ; 
And,  one  by  one,  each  cottage  lamp 

Is  lighted  ; 

Infrequent  passers  of  the  street 
Stroll  on  or  stop  to  talk  or  greet, 

Benighted. 


UNDERTONES 

1  look  beyond  my  city  yard, 

And  watch  the  white  moon  struggling  hard, 

Cloud-buried  5 

The  wind  is  driving  toward  the  east, 
A  wreck  of  pearl,  all  cracked  and  creased 

And  serried. 

At  times  the  moon,  erupting,  streaks 
Some  long  cloud  ;  like  Andean  peaks 

That  double 

Horizon-vast  volcano  chains, 
The  earthquake  scars  with  lava  veins 

That  bubble. 

The  wind  that  blows  from  out  the  hills 
Is  like  a  woman's  touch  that  stills 

A  sorrow: 

The  moon  sits  high  with  many  a  star 
In  the  deep  calm:  and  fair  and  far 

Abides  to-morrow. 


REQUIEM 


NO  more  for  him,  where  hills  look  down, 
Shall  Morning  crown 
Her  rainy  brow  with  blossom  bands !  — 

Whose  rosy  hands 

Drop  wild  flowers  of  the  breaking  skies 
Upon  the  sod  'neath  which  he  lies.  — 
No  more!  no  more! 


No  more  for  him  where  waters  sleep, 

Shall  Evening  heap 
The  long  gold  of  the  perfect  days ! 

Whose  pale  hand  lays 
Great  poppies  of  the  afterglow 
Upon  the  turf  he  rests  below.  — 

No  more!  no  more! 

in. 
No  more  for  him,  where  woodlands  loom, 

Shall  Midnight  bloom 
The  star-flow' red  acres  of  the  blue! 

Whose  brown  hands  strew 
Dead  leaves  of  darkness,  hushed  and  deep, 
Upon  the  grave  where  he  doth  sleep.  — 

No  more!  no  more! 


UNDERTONES 


IV. 

The  hills  that  Morning's  footsteps  wake  ; 

The  waves  that  take 
A  brightness  from  the  Eve  j  the  woods 

O'er  which  Night  broods, 
Their  spirits  have,  whose  parts  are  one 
With  his  whose  mortal  part  is  done. 

Whose  part  is  done! 


AT   LAST 

WHAT  shall  be  said  to  him, 
Now  he  is  dead  ? 
Now  that  his  eyes  are  dim, 

Low  lies  his  head  ? 
What  shall  be  said  to  him, 
Now  he  is  dead  ? 

One  word  to  whisper  of 

Low  in  his  ear  j 
Sweet,  but  the  one  word  *'  love  v 

Haply  he  Ml  hear. 
One  word  to  whisper  of 

Low  in  his  ear. 
26 


A   DARK   DAY 

What  shall  be  given  him, 

Now  he  is  dead  ? 
Now  that  his  eyes  are  dim, 

Low  lies  his  head  ? 
What  shall  be  given  him, 

Now  he  is  dead  ? 

Hope,  that  life  long  denied 

Here  to  his  heart, 
Sweet,  lay  it  now  beside, 

Never  to  part. 
Hope,  that  life  long  denied 

Here  to  his  heart. 


A   DARK   DAY 

THOUGH  Summer  walks  the  world  to 
day 

With  corn-crowned  hours  for  her  guard, 
Her  thoughts  have  clad  themselves  in  gray, 
And  wait  in  Autumn's  weedy  yard. 

And  where  the  larkspur  and  the  phlox 
Spread  carpets  wheresoe'er  she  pass, 

She  seems  to  stand  with  sombre  locks 
Bound  bleak  with  fog-washed  zinnias.  — 

27 


UNDERTONES 

Fall's  terra-cotta-colored  flowers, 

Whose  disks  the  trickling  wet  has  tinged 

With  dingy  lustre  when  the  bower's 

Thin,   flame-flecked  leaves  the  frost  has 
singed  j 

Or  with  slow  feet,  'mid  gaunt  gold  blooms 
Of  marigolds  her  fingers  twist, 

She  seems  to  pass  with  Fall's  perfumes, 
And  dreams  of  sullen  rain  and  mist. 


FALL 

SAD-HEARTED  spirit  of  the  solitudes, 
Who  comest  through  the  ruin -wedded 

woods  ! 
Gray-gowned  with  fog,  gold-girdled  with 

the  gloom 

Of  tawny  twilights  j  burdened  with  perfume 
Of  rain-wet  uplands,  chilly  with  the  mist  $ 
And  all  the  beauty  of  the  fire-kissed 
Cold  forests  crimsoning  thy  indolent  way, 
Odorous  of  death  and  drowsy  with  decay. 


UNDERTONE 

I  think  of  thee  as  seated  'mid  the  showers 
Of  languid  leavesthat  cover  up  the  flowers,-— 
The  little  flower-sisterhoods,  whom  June 
Once  gave  wild  sweetness  to,  as  to  a  tune 
A  singer  gives  her  soul's  wild  melody,  — 
Watching  the  squirrel  store  his  granary. 
Or,  'mid  old  orchards  I  have  pictured  thee  : 
Thy  hair's  profusion  blown  about  thy  back  ; 
One  lovely  shoulder  bathed  with  gipsy  black; 
Upon  thy  palm  one  nestling  cheek,  and  sweet 
The  rosy  russets  tumbled  at  thy  feet. 
Was  it  a  voice  lamenting  for  the  flowers  ? 
A  heart-sick  bird,  that  sang  of  happier  hours? 
A  cricket  dirging  days  that  soon  must  die  ? 
Or  did  the  ghost  of  Summer  wander  by  ? 


UNDERTONE 

AH  me!  too  soon  the  Autumn  comes 
Among  these  purple-plaintive  hills! 
Too  soon  among  the  forest  gums 
Premonitory  flame  she  spills, 
Bleak,  melancholy  flame  that  kills. 


UNDERTONES 

Her  white  fogs  veil  the  morn  that  rims 
With  wet  the  moonflowVs  elfin  moons  j 
And,  like  exhausted  starlight,  dims 
The  last  slim  lily-disk  5  and  swoons 
With  scents  of  hazy  afternoons. 

Her  gray  mists  haunt  the  sunset  skies, 
And  build  the  west's  cadaverous  fire, 
Where  Sorrow  sits  with  lonely  eyes, 
And  hands  that  wake  her  ancient  lyre, 
Beside  the  ghost  of  dead  Desire. 


CONCLUSION 

THE  songs  Love  sang  to  us  are  dead: 
Yet  shall  he  sing  to  us  again, 
When  the  dull  days  are  wrapped  in  lead, 
And  the  red  woodland  drips  with  rain. 

The  lily  of  our  love  is  gone, 

That  touched  our  spring  with  golden  scent 

Now  in  the  garden  low  upon 

The  wind-stripped  way  its  stalk  is  bent. 


30 


CONCLUSION 

Our  rose  of  dreams  is  passed  away, 
That  lit  our  summer  with  sweet  fire  ; 
The  storm  beats  bare  each  thorny  spray, 
And  its  dead  leaves  are  trod  in  mire. 

The  songs  Love  sang  to  us  are  dead  ; 
Yet  shall  he  sing  to  us  again, 
When  the  dull  days  are  wrapped  in  lead, 
And  the  red  woodland  drips  with  rain. 

The  marigold  of  memory 
Shall  fill  our  autumn  then  with  glow  ; 
Haply  its  bitterness  will  be 
Sweeter  than  love  of  long  ago. 

The  cypress  of  forgetfulness 

Shall  haunt  our  winter  with  its  hue  j 

The  apathy  to  us  not  less 

Dear  than  the  dreams  our  summer  knew. 


UNDERTONES 


MONOCHROMES 


THE  last  rose  falls,  wrecked  of  the  wind 
and  rain  ; 
Where   once  it  bloomed  the  thorns  alone 

remain : 
Dead  in  the  wet  the  slow  rain  strews  the 

rose. 

The  day  was  dim  5  now  eve  comes  on  again, 
Grave  as  a  life  weighed  down  by  many 

woes,  — 
So  is  the  joy  dead,  and  alive  the  pain. 

The  brown  leaf  flutters  where  the  green  leaf 

died; 

Bare  are  the  boughs,  and  bleak  the  forest  side: 
The  wind  is  whirling  with  the  last  wild 

leaf. 
The  eve  was  strange;  now  dusk  comes  weird 

and  wide, 

Gaunt  as  a  life  that  lives  alone  with  grief, — 
So  doth  the  hope  go  and  despair  abide. 
3* 


MONOCHROMES 

An  empty  nest  hangs  where  the  wood-bird 

pled; 

Along  the  west  the  dusk  dies,  stormy  red: 
The  frost  is  subtle  as  a  serpent's  breath. 
The  dusk  was  sad  j  now  night  is  overhead, 
Grim  as  a  soul  brought  face  to  face  with 

death  — 
So  life  lives  on  when  love,  its  life,  lies  dead. 


Go  your  own  ways.      Who  shall  persuade 

me  now 

To  seek  with  high  face  fora  star  of  hope  ? 
Or  up  endeavor's  unsubmissive  slope 
Advance  a  bosom  of  desire,  and  bow 
A  back  of  patience  in  a  thankless  task  ? 
Alone  beside  the  grave  of  love  I  ask, 
Shalt  thou  ?  or  thou  ? 

Leave  go  my  hands.     Fain  would  I  walk 

alone 

The  easy  ways  of  silence  and  of  sleep. 
What  though  I  go  with  eyes  that  cannot 

weep, 

33 


UNDERTONES 

And  lips  contracted  with  no  uttered  moan, 
Through  rocks  and  thorns,  where  every 

footprint  bleeds, 

A  dead-sea  path  of  desert  night  that  leads 
To  one  white  stone! 


Though  sands  be  black  and  bitter  black  the 

sea, 

Night  lie  before  me  and  behind  me  night, 
And  God  within  far  Heaven  refuse  to  light 
The  consolation  of  the  dawn  for  me,  — 
Between  the  shadowy  bournes  of  Heaven 

and  Hell, 

It  is  enough  love  leaves  my  soul  to  dwell 
With  memory. 


DAYS   AND   DAYS 

THE  days  that  clothed  white  limbs  with 
heat, 

And  rocked  the  red  rose  on  their  breast, 
Have  passed  with  amber-sandalled  feet 
Into  the  ruby-gated  west. 


34 


DROUTH    IN    AUTUMN 

These  were  the  days  that  filled  the  heart 

With  overflowing  riches  of 
Life;  in  whose  soul  no  dream  shall  start 

But  hath  its  origin  in  love. 

Now  come  the  days  gray-huddled  in 

The  haze  ;  whose  foggy  footsteps  drip  ; 

Who  pin  beneath  a  gipsy  chin 
The  frosty  marigold  and  hip.  — 

The  days,  whose  forms  fall  shadowy 
Athwart  the  heart  j  whose  misty  breath 

Shapes  saddest  sweets  of  memory 
Out  of  the  bitterness  of  death. 


DROUTH    IN    AUTUMN 

GNARLED  acorn-oaks  against  a  west 
Of  copper,  cavernous  with  fire  ; 
A  wind  of  frost  that  gives  no  rest 

To  such  lean  leaves  as  haunt  the  brier, 
And  hide  the  cricket' s  vibrant  wire. 


35 


UNDERTONES 

Sear,  shivering  shocks,  and  stubble  blurred 
With  bramble-blots  of  dull  maroon  ; 

And  creekless  hills  whereon  no  herd 
Finds  pasture,  and  whereo'er  the  loon 
Flies,  haggard  as  the  rainless  moon. 


MID-WINTER 

ALL  day  the  clouds  hung  ashen  with  the 
cold; 
And  through  the  snow  the  muffled  waters 

fell; 
The  day  seemed  drowned  in  grief  too  deep 

to  tell, 

Like  some  old  hermit  whose  last  bead  is  told. 
At  eve  the  wind  woke,  and  the  snow-clouds 

rolled 

Aside  to  leave  the  fierce  sky  visible  ; 
Harsh  as  an  iron  landscape  of  wan  hell 
The  dark  hills  hung  framed  in  with  gloomy 

gold. 
And  then,  towards  night,  the  wind  seemed 

some  one  at 

My  window  wailing  :  now  a  little  child 
Crying  outside  the  door  ;  and  now  the  long 

36 


COLD 

Howl  of  some  starved  beast  down  the  flue. 

I  sat 
And  knew  'twas  Winter  with  his  madman 

song 
Of  miseries,  whereon  he  stared  and  smiled. 


COLD 

A  MIST  that  froze   beneath  the    moon 
and  shook 

Minutest  frosty  fire  in  the  air. 
All  night  the  wind  was  still  as  lonely  Care 
Who  sighs  before  her  shivering  ingle-nook. 
The  face  of  Winter  wore  a  crueler  look 
Than  when  he   shakes  the  icicles  from  his 

hair, 

And,  in  the  boisterous  pauses,  lets  his  stare 
Freeze  through  the  forest,  fettering  bough 

and  brook. 

He  is  the  despot  now  who  sits  and  dreams 
Of  Desolation  and  Despair,  and  smiles 
At  Poverty,  who  hath  no  place  to  rest, 
Who  wanders  o'er  Life's  snow-made  path 
less  miles, 

37 


UNDERTONES 

And  sees  the  Home-of-Comfort' s  window 

gleams, 
And    hugs  her  rag-wrapped   baby  to  her 

breast. 


IN    WINTER 


WHEN   black   frosts  pluck  the  acorns 
down, 

And  in  the  lane  the  waters  freeze  ;  ^ 
And  'thwart  red  skies  the  wild-fowl  flies, 
And  death  sits  grimly  'mid  the  trees  j 
When  home-lights  glitter  in  the  brown 

Of  dusk  like  shaggy  eyes,  — 
Before  the  door  his  feet,  sweetheart, 
And  two  white  arms  that  greet,  sweetheart, 
And  two  white  arms  that  greet. 

n. 

When  ways  are  drifted  with  the  leaves, 
And  winds  make  music  in  the  thorns  ; 

And  lone  and  lost  above  the  frost 

The  new  moon  shows  its  silver  horns  ; 

38 


ON    THE   FARM 

When  underneath  the  lamp-lit  eaves 

The  opened  door  is  crossed,  — 
A  happy  heart  and  light,  sweetheart, 
And  lips  to  kiss  good-night,  sweetheart, 
And  lips  to  kiss  good-night. 


ON    THE    FARM 


HE  sang  a  song  as  he  sowed  the  field, 
Sowed  the  field  at  break  of  day  : 
"  When  the  pursed-up  leaves  are  as  lips  that 

yield 

Balm  and  balsam,  and  Spring,  —  concealed 
In  the  odorous  green,  —  is  so  revealed, 

Halloo  and  oh  ! 
Hallo  for  the  woods  and  the  far  away !  " 

n. 

He  trilled  a  song  as  he  mowed  the  mead, 

Mowed  the  mead  as  noon  begun  : 
"  When  the  hills  are  gold  with  the  ripened 

seed, 
As  the  sunset  stairs  that  loom  and  lead 

39 


UNDERTONES 

To  the  sky  where  Summer  knows  naught 

of  need, 
Halloo  and  oh  ! 
Hallo  for  the  hills  and  the  harvest  sun  ! " 


in. 

He  hummed  a  song  as  he  swung  the  flail, 

Swung  the  flail  in  the  afternoon  : 
"  When  the  idle  fields  are  a  wrecker's  tale, 
That  the  Autumn  tells  to  the  twilight  pale, 
As  the  Year  turns  seaward  a  crimson  sail, 

Halloo  and  oh  ! 
Hallo  for  the  fields  and  the  hunter' s-moon!  " 


IV. 

He  whistled  a  song  as  he  shouldered  his  axe, 

Shouldered  his  axe  in  the  evening  storm  : 

"  When  the  snow   of  the  road  shows  the 

rabbit's  tracks, 
And    the  wind  is  a  whip   that  the  Winter 

cracks, 
With  a  herdsman'  s  cry,    o'er  the   clouds' 

black  backs, 
Halloo  and  oh! 

Hallo  for  home  and  a  hearth  to  warm!" 
40 


PATHS 


WHAT  words  of  mine  can  tell  the  spell 
Of  garden  ways  I  know  so  well  ?  — 
The  path  that  takes  me,  in  the  spring, 
Past  quinces  where  the  blue-birds  sing, 
Where  peonies  are  blossoming, 
Unto  a  porch,  wistaria-hung, 
Around  whose  steps  May-lilies  blow, 
A  fair  girl  reaches  down  among, 
Her  arm  more  white  than  their  sweet  snow. 


II. 

What  words  of  mine  can  tell  the  spell 
Of  garden  ways  I  know  so  well  ?  — 
Another  path  that  leads  me,  when 
The  summer-time  is  here  again, 
Past  hollyhocks  that  shame  the  west 
When  the  red  sun  has  sunk  to  rest  } 
To  roses  bowering  a  nest, 
A  lattice,  'neath  which  mignonette 
And  deep  geraniums  surge  and  sough, 
Where,  in  the  twilight,  starless  yet, 
A  fair  girl's  eyes  are  stars  enough. 


UNDERTONES 


What  words  of  mine  can  tell  the  spell 
Of  garden  ways  I  know  so  well  ?  — 
A  path  that  takes  me,  when  the  days 
Of  autumn  wrap  themselves  in  haze, 
Beneath  the  pippin-pelting  tree, 
'  Mid  flitting  butterfly  and  bee  ; 
Unto  a  door  where,  fiery, 
The  creeper  climbs  ;  and,  garnet-hued, 
The  cock's-comb  and  the  dahlia  flare, 
And  in  the  door,  where  shades  intrude, 
Gleams  out  a  fair  girl's  sunbeam  hair. 


What  words  of  mine  can  tell  the  spell 

Of  garden  ways  I  know  so  well  ?  — 

A  path  that  brings  me  o'er  the  frost 

Of  winter,  when  the  moon  is  tossed 

In  clouds  j  beneath  great  cedars,  weak 

With  shaggy  snow;  past  shrubs  blown  bleak 

With  shivering  leaves  ;  to  eaves  that  leak 

The  tattered  ice,  whereunder  is 

A  fire-flickering  window-space  ; 

And  in  the  light,  with  lips  to  kiss, 

A  fair  girl's  welcome-giving  face. 


A    SONG    IN    SEASON 


WHEN  in  the  wind  the  vane  turns  round, 
And  round,  and  round  j 
And  in  his  kennel  whines  the  hound; 
When  all  the  gable  eaves  are  bound 
With  icicles  of  ragged  gray, 

^ A  glinting  gray  ; 

There  is  little  to  do,  and  much  to  say, 
And  you  hug  your  fire  and  pass  the  day 
With  a  thought  of  the  springtime,  dearie. 


When  late  at  night  the  owlet  hoots, 

And  hoots,  and  hoots  ; 
And  wild  winds  make  of  keyholes  flutes  j 
When  to  the  door  the  goodman's  boots 
Stamp  through  the  snow  the  light  stains  red, 

The  fire-light's  red  ; 
There  is  nothing  to  do,  and  all  is  said, 
And  you  quaff  your  cider  and  go  to  bed 
With  a  dream  of  the  summer,  dearie. 

in. 

When,  nearing  dawn,  the  black  cock  crows, 

And  crows,  and  crows  ; 
And  from  the  barn  the  milch-cow  lows  j 

43 


UNDERTONES 

And  the  milkmaid's  cheeks  have  each  a  rose, 
And  the  still  skies  show  a  star  or  two, 

Or  one  or  two  ; 

There  is  little  to  say,  and  much  to  do, 

And  the  heartier  done  the  happier  you, 

With  a  song  of  the  winter,  dearie. 


APART 


WHILE  sunset  burns  and  stars  are  few, 
And  roses  scent  the  fading  light, 
And  like  a  slim  urn,  dripping  dew, 
A  spirit  carries  through  the  night, 

The  pearl-pale  moon  hangs  new,  — 
I  think  of  you,  of  you. 

n. 

While  waters  flow,  and  soft  winds  woo 
The  golden-hearted  bud  with  sighs  } 
And,  like  a  flower  an  angel  threw, 
Out  of  the  momentary  skies 

A  star  falls  burning  blue,  — 
I  dream  of  you,  of  you. 


III. 

While  love  believes,  and  hearts  are  true, 
So  let  me  think,  so  let  me  dream  ; 
The  thought  and  dream  so  wedded  to 
Your  face,  that,  far  apart,  I  seem 
To  see  each  thing  you  do, 

And  be  with  you,  with  you. 


FAERY   MORRIS 


THE  winds  are  whist  ;  and,  hid  in  mist, 
The    moon    hangs    o'er   the    wooded 

height  } 

The  bushy  bee,  with  unkempt  head, 
Hath  made  the  sunflower's  disk  his  bed, 
And  sleeps  half-hid  from  sight. 
The  owlet  makes  us  melody  — 
Come  dance  with  us  in  Faery, 
Come  dance  with  us  to-night. 

ii. 

The  dew  is  damp  ;  the  glow-worm's  lamp 
Blurs  in  the  moss  its  tawny  light  ; 
The  great  gray  moth  sinks,  half-asleep, 

45 


UNDERTONES 

Where,  in  an  elfin-laundered  heap, 
The  lily-gowns  hang  white. 
The  crickets  make  us  minstrelsy  — 
Come  dance  with  us  in  Faery, 
Come  dance  with  us  to  night. 

in. 

With  scents  of  heat,  dew-chilled  and  sweet, 
The  new-cut  hay  smells  by  the  bight  j 
The  ghost  of  some  dead  pansy  bloom, 
The  butterfly  dreams  in  the  gloom, 
Its  pied  wings  folded  tight. 
The  world  is  lost  in  fantasy,  — 
Come  dance  with  us  in  Faery, 
Come  dance  with  us  to-night. 


T 


THE   WORLD'S   DESIRE 

HE  roses  of  voluptuousness 
Wreathe  her  dark  locks  and  hide  her 

eyes; 

Her  limbs  are  flower-like  nakedness, 
Wherethrough  the  fragrant  blood  doth  press, 
The  blossom-blood  of  Paradise. 

46 


THE    UNATTAINABLE 

She  stands  with  Lilith  finger  tips, 
With  Lilith  hands  ;  and  gathers  up 
The  wild  wine  of  all  life  ;  and  sips 
With  Lilith-laughter-lightened  lips 
The  soul  as  from  a  crystal  cup. 

What  though  she  cast  the  cup  away  ! 
The  empty  bowl  that  flashed  with  wine  ! 
Her  curled  lips'  kiss,  that  stained  the  clay, 
Her  ringers'  touch  —  shall  not  these  stay, 
That  made  its  nothingness  divine  ? 

Through  one  again  shall  live  the  glow, 
Immortalizing,  of  her  touch  ; 
And  through  the  other,  sweet  to  know 
How  life  swept  flame  once  'neath  the  snow 
Of  her  mooned  breasts,  —  and  this  is  much ! 


THE   UNATTAINABLE 

MARK  thou  !  a  shadow   crowned  with 
fire  of  hell. 

Man  holds  her  in  his  heart  as  night  doth  hold 
The  moonlight  memories  of  day' s  dead  gold ; 
Or  as  a  winter-withered  asphodel 
In  its  dead  loveliness  holds  scents  of  old. 
And  looking  on  her,  lo,  he  thinks  't  is  well. 

47 


UNDERTONES 

Who  would   not  follow  her  whose  glory 

sits, 

Imperishably  lovely  on  the  air  ? 
Who,    from   the  arms    of  Earth's    desire, 

flits 

With  eyes  defiant  and  rebellious  hair  ?  — 
Hers  is  the  beauty  that  no  man  shall  share. 

He  who  hath  seen,  what  shall  it  profit  him  ? 
He  who  doth  love,  what  shall  his  passion 

gain  ? 
When  disappointment  at  her  cup's  bright 

brim 
Poisons  the   pleasure  with  the    hemlock 

pain  ? 
Hers  is  the  passion  that  no  man  shall  drain. 

How  long,  how  long  since  Life  hath  touched 

her  eyes, 
Making  their  night  clairvoyant  !     And  how 

long 
Since  Love  hath  kissed  her  lips  and  made 

them  wise, 

Binding  her  brow  with  prophecy  and  song  ! 
Hope  clad  her  nakedness  in  lovely  lies, 
Giving  into  her  hands  the  right  of  wrong! 

48 


THE    UNATTAINABLE 

Lo !    in  her  world  she  sets    pale    tents    of 

thought, 
Unearthly    bannered  ;    and    her   dreams' 

wild  bands 

Besiege  the  heavens  like  a  twilight  fraught 
With    recollections    of  lost    stars.      She 

stands 
Radiant  as  Lilith  given  from  God's  hands. 

The  golden  rose  of  patience  at  her  throat 

Drops  fragrant  petals  — as  a  pensive  tune 
Drops   its    surrendered    sweetness    note    by 

note  ;  — 
And  from  her  hands  the  buds  of  hope  are 

strewn, 
Moon-flowers,  mothered  of  the  barren  moon. 

So  in  her    flowers  man    seats  him    at    her 

feet 

In  star-faced  worship,  knowing  all  of  this  j 
And  now  to  him  to  die  seems  very  sweet, 
Fed  with  the  fire  of  her  look  and  kiss  $ 
While  in  his  heart  the  blood's  tumultuous 

beat 
Drowns,  in  herowna  the  drowsing  serpent's 

hiss. 

49 


UNDERTONES 

He  who  hath  dreamed  but  of  her  world  shall 
give 

All  of  his  soul  unto  her  restlessly: 
He  who  hath  seen  but  her  far  face  shall  live 

No  more  for  things  we  name  reality: 
Such  is  the  power  of  her  tyranny. 

He,  whom  she  wins,  hath  nothing 'neath  the 

sun; 

Forgetting  all  that  she  may  not  forget 
He  loves  her,  who  still  feeds  his  soul  upon 
Dreams  and  desires,  and  doubt  and  vain 

regret,  — 

Life's    bitter  bread  his  heart's  fierce  tears 
make  wet. 

What  word  of  wisdom  hast  thou,  Life,  to 

wake 

Him  now  !  or  song  of  magic  now  to  dull 
The  dreams  he  lives  in!  or  what  charm  to 

break 

The  spell  that  makes  her  evil  beautiful! 
What   charm  to  show  her  beauty  hides  a 

snake, 
Whose  basilisk  eyes  burn  dark  behind  a  skull. 


REMEMBERED 

HERE  in  the  dusk  I  see  her  face  again 
As  then  I  knew  it,  ere  she  fell  asleep; 
Renunciation  glorifying  pain 

Of  her  soul's  inmost  deep. 

I  shall  not  see  its  like  again!  the  brow 
Of  passive  marble,  purely  aureoled,  — 
As  some  pale  lily  in  the  afterglow,  — 
With  supernatural  gold. 

As  if  a  rose  should   speak  and,  somehow 

heard 
By    some    strange    sense,   the    unembodied 

sound 
Grow  visible,  her  mouth  was  as  a  word 

A  sweet  thought  falters  'round. 

So  do  I  still  remember  eyes  imbued 
With  far  reflections  —  as  the  stars  suggest 
The  silence,  purity  and  solitude 

Of  infinite  peace  and  rest. 

She  was  my  all.      I  loved  her  as  men  love 
A  high  desire,  religion,  an  ideal  — 
The  meaning  purpose  in  the  loss  whereof 
God  shall  alone  reveal. 


UNDERTONES 


THE    SEA    SPIRIT 

AH  me  !  I  shall  not  waken  soon 
From  dreams  of  such  divinity ! 
A  spirit  singing  in  the  moon 
To  me. 

White  sea-spray  driven  of  the  storm 
Were  not  so  wildly  white  as  she! 
She  beckoned  with  a  foam-white  arm 
To  me. 

With  eyes  dark  green,  and  golden-green 
Loose  locks  that  sparkled  drippingly, 
Out  of  the  green  wave  she  did  lean 
To  me. 

And  sang  ;  till  Earth  and  Heaven  were 
A  far,  forgotten  memory  ; 
For  more  than  Heaven  seemed  hid  in  her 
To  me:  — 

Sleep,  sweeter  than  love's  face  or  home  $ 
Love,  more  than  immortality; 
And  music  of  the  dreamy  foam 

For  me. 
5* 


A   DREAM    SHAPE 

Pass  over  her  with  all  thy  ships 
With  all  thy  stormy  tides,  O  sea! 
The  memory  of  immortal  lips 
For  me! 


A   DREAM    SHAPE 

WITH  moon-white    hearts  that  held  a 
gleam, 

I  gathered  wild  flowers  in  a  dream, 
And  shaped  a  woman,  whose  sweet  blood 
Was  odor  of  the  wildwood  bud. 

From  dew,  the  starlight  arrowed  through, 
I  wrought  a  woman's  eyes  of  blue  ; 
The  lids,  that  on  her  eyeballs  lay, 
Were  rose-pale  petals  of  the  May. 

I  took  the  music  of  the  breeze, 
And  water  whispering  in  the  trees, 
And  shaped  the  soul  that  breathed  below 
A  woman' s  blossom  breasts  of  snow. 

Out  of  a  rose-bud's  veins  I  drew 
The  fragrant  crimson  beating  through 
The  languid  lips  of  her,  whose  kiss 
Was  as  a  poppy's  drowsiness. 

53 


UNDERTONES 

Out  of  the  moonlight  and  the  air 
I  wrought  the  glory  of  her  hair, 
That  o'er  her  eyes'  blue  heaven  lay 
Like  some  gold  cloud  o'er  dawn  of  day. 

A  shadow's  shadow  in  the  glass 
Of  sleep,  my  spirit  saw  her  pass  : 
And,  thinking  of  it  now,  meseems 
We  only  live  within  our  dreams. 

For  in  that  time  she  was  to  me 

More  real  than  our  reality; 

More  real  than  Earth,  more  real  than  I  - 

The  unreal  things  that  pass  and  die. 


THE   VAMPIRE 

A  LILY  in  a  twilight  place  ? 
A  moonflow'r  in  the  lonely  night  ? 
Strange  beauty  of  a  woman's  face 
Of  wildflow'r-white ! 

The  rain  that  hangs  a  star's  green  ray 
Slim  on  a  leaf-point's  restlessness, 
Is  not  so  glimmering  green  and  gray 
As  was  her  dress. 
54 


THE   VAMPIRE 

I  drew  her  dark  hair  from  her  eyes, 
And  in  their  deeps  beheld  a  while 
Such  shadowy  moonlight  as  the  skies 
Of  Hell  may  smile. 

She  held  her  mouth  up  redly  wan, 
And  burning  cold,  —  I  bent  and  kissed 
Such  rosy  snow  as  some  wild  dawn 
Makes  of  a  mist. 

God  shall  not  take  from  me  that  hour, 
When    round    my    neck    her   white    arms 

clung ! 
When    'neath    my    lips,    like    some    fierce 

flower, 
Her  white  throat  swung! 

Or  words  she  murmured  while  she  leaned ! 
Witch-words,  she  holds  me  softly  by,  — 
The  spell  that  binds  me  to  a  fiend 
Until  I  die. 


55 


UNDERTONES 


WILL-O'-THE-WISP 

i. 

HPHERE  in  the  calamus  he  stands 
JL     With  frog-webbed  feet  and  bat-winged 

hands j 
His  glow-worm  garb  glints  goblin-wise  j 

And  elfishly,  and  elfishly, 
Above  the  gleam  of  owlet  eyes, 
A  death' s-moth  cap  of  downy  dyes 
Nods  out  at  me,  nods  out  at  me. 

II. 

Now  in  the  reeds  his  face  looks  white 
As  witch-down  on  a  witches'  night; 
Now  through  the  dark  old  haunted  mill, 

So  eerily,  so  eerily, 
He  flits;  and  with  a  whippoorwill 
Mouth  calls,  and  seems  to  syllable, 

"  Come  follow  me !  come  follow  me!  " 


Now  o'er  the  sluggish  stream  he  wends, 
A  slim  light  at  his  finger-ends; 
56 


THE    HEADLESS    HORSEMAN 

The  spotted  spawn,  the  toad  hath  clomb, 

Slips  oozily,  slips  oozily  ; 
His  easy  footsteps  seem  to  come  — 
Like  bubble-gaspings  of  the  scum  — 

Now  near  to  me,  now  near  to  me. 


There  by  the  stagnant  pool  he  stands, 
A  fox-fire  lamp  in  flickering  hands  $ 
The  weeds  are  slimy  to  the  tread, 

And  mockingly,  and  mockingly, 
With  slanted  eyes  and  eldritch  head 
He  leans  above  a  face  long  dead,  — 

The  face  of  me !  the  face  of  me ! 


THE    HEADLESS    HORSEMAN 

ON  the  black  road  through  the  wood 
As  I  rode, 

There  the  Headless  Horseman  stood j 
By  the  wild  pool  in  the  wood, 
As  I  rode. 


57 


UNDERTONES 

From  the  shadow  of  an  oak, 

As  I  rode, 

Demon  steed  and  rider  broke; 
By  the  thunder-shattered  oak, 

As  I  rode. 


On  the  waste  road  through  the  plain, 

As  I  rode, 

At  my  back  he  whirled  like  rain; 
On  the  tempest-blackened  plain, 

As  I  rode. 


Four  fierce  hoofs  shod  red  with  fire, 

As  I  rode, 

Woke  the  wild  rocks,  dark  and  dire  ; 
Eyes  and  nostrils  streamed  with  fire, 

As  I  rode. 


On  the  deep  road  through  the  rocks, 

As  I  rode, 

I  could  reach  his  horse's  locks; 
Through  the  echo-hurling  rocks, 

As  I  rode. 


THE   WERE-WOLF 

And  again  I  looked  behind, 

As  I  rode,  — 

Dark  as  night  and  swift  as  wind, 
Towering,  he  rode  behind, 

As  I  rode. 

On  the  steep  road  down  the  dell, 

As  I  rode, 

In  the  night  I  heard  a  bell, 
In  the  village  in  the  dell, 

As  I  rode. 

And  my  soul  called  out  in  prayer, 

As  I  rode,  — 
Lo!  the  demon  went  in  air, 
Leaving  me  alone  in  prayer, 

As  I  rode. 


THE   WERE-WOLF 


SHE. 

AYj  still  amort,  my  love  ?     Why  dost 
thou  lag  ? 

HE. 


NAYi 


The  strix-owl  cried. 

59 


UNDERTONES 

SHE. 

Nay!     yon    wild 

stream  that  leaps 
Hoarse  from  the  black  pines  of  the  Hakel 

steeps, 
A    moon-tipped  water,    down   a  glittering 

crag.  — 
Why   so   aghast,    sweetheart  ?     Why  dost 

thou  stop  ? 

HE. 

The  demon-huntsman  passed  with  hooting 
horn! 

SHE. 

Nay !  '  t  was  the  blind  wind  sweeping  through 

the  thorn 
Around  the  ruins  of  the  Dumburg's  top. 

HE. 

My  limbs  are  cold. 

SHE. 

Come!  warm  thee  in 
mine  arms. 
60 


THE   WERE-WOLF 

HE. 

Mine  eyes  are  weary. 

SHE. 

Rest  them,  love,  on 
mine. 

HE. 

I  am  athirst. 

SHE. 

Quench  on  my  lips  thy  thirst.  — 
O  dear  beloved,  how  thy  last  kiss  warms 
My  blood  again ! 

HE. 

Off!   ...   How  thy  eye 
balls  shine! 

Thy  face!  .   .   .    thy  form!  .    .   .    So  do  I 
die  accursed  ! 


61 


UNDERTONES 


THE  TROGLODYTE 

IN  ages  dead,  a  troglodyte, 
At    the    hollow    roots    of  a    monster 

height,  — 
That  grew  from  the  heart  of  the  world  to 

light,  — 

I  dwelt  in  caverns  :  over  me 
Were  mountains  older  than  the  moon; 
And  forests  vaster  than  the  sea, 
And  gulfs,  that  the  earthquake's  hand  had 

hewn, 

Hung  under  me.      And  late  and  soon 
I  heard  the  daemon  of  change  that  sighed 
A  cosmic  language  of  mystery; 
While  life  sat  silent,  primeval-eyed, 
With  the  infant  spirit  of  prophecy. 

Gaunt  stars  glared  down  on  the  Titan  peaks; 
And  the  gaunter  glare  of  the  cratered  streaks 
Of  the  sunset's  ruin  heard  condor  shrieks. 
The  roar  of  cataracts  hurled  in  air, 
And  the  hurricane  laying  his  thunders  bare, 
And  rush  of  battling  beasts,  —  whose  lair 


THE    CITY    OF   DARKNESS 

Was  the  antechamber  of  nadir-gloom,  — 
Were  my  outworld  joys.     But  who  shall  tell 
The  awe  of  the  depths  that  heard  the  boom 
Of  the  iron  rivers  that  fashioned  Hell! 


THE    CITY   OF   DARKNESS 

W IDE-walled  it  stands  in  heathen  lands 
Beside  a  mystic  sea, 

With  streets  strange-trod  of  many  a  god, 
And  templed  blasphemy. 

Far  in  the  night,  a  rose  of  light 
It  shines  beside  the  sea; 
But  overhead  an  unknown  dread 
Impends  eternally. 

There  is  a  sound  above,  around 
Of  music  by  the  sea  ; 
And  weird  and  wide  the  torches  glide 
Of  pagan  revelry. 

There  is  a  noise  as  of  a  voice 

That  calls  beneath  the  sea  ; 

And  all  the  deep  grows  pale  with  sleep 

And  vague  expectancy. 

63 


UNDERTONES 

Then  slowly  up  —  as  from  a  cup 
Seethes  poison  —  lifts  the  seaj 
Wild  mass  on  mass,  as  in  black  glass, 
The  town  glows  fiery. 

Red-lit  it  glowers  like  Hell's  dark  towers 
Set  in  the  iron  sea; 

And  monster  swarms  with  awful  forms 
Roll  though  it  cloudily. 

Still  overhead  the  unknown  dread, 
Whose  shadow  dyes  the  sea, 
At  wrath-winged  wait  behind  its  gate 
Till  God  shall  set  it  free. 

A  taloned  flash,  an  earthquake  crash, 
And,  lo !  upon  the  sea, 
Black  wall  on  wall,  a  giant  pall, 
Night  settles  hideously. 

And  where  it  burned,  a  rose  inurned, 
Red  in  the  vasty  sea, 
The  phantasm  of  the  dread  above 
Sits  in  immensity. 


64 


TRANSMUTATION 

TO  me  all  beauty  that  I  see 
Is  melody  made  visible: 
An  earth -translated  state,  may  be, 
Of  music  heard  in  Heaven  or  Hell. 

Out  of  some  love-impassioned  strain 
Of  saints,  the  rose  evolved  its  bloom 
And,  dreaming  of  it  here  again, 
Perhaps  re-lives  it  as  perfume. 

Out  of  some  chant  that  demons  sing 
Of  hate  and  pain,   the  sunset  grew} 
And,  haply,  still  remembering, 
Re-lives  it  here  as  some  wild  hue. 


FIVE  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  COPIES  OF 
THIS  BOOK  (THIRTY-FIVE  COPIES  OF 
WHICH  ARE  ON  HANDMADE  PAPER) 
WERE  PRINTED  DURING  MARCH  BY 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON  CAMBRIDGE 


D 
m 


3 
> 

-o 
m 

a 

00 

m 


</>  3  3  ' — 

3   q  §  °° 
r><   ^Q 


Q  -. 


l§=si 

5^-  3  m 


00°;  xi 


- 
o  =;-c 


0-5' 

(?    Q 


m 


'"  O 

C  o 

m 


Cn 


^^ 

* 

ho 

Q 


cr 

Q 

-^ 


CO 


„ 

OASt 
B 


